"Lev Kassil. The black book and Schwambrania (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Prince Svyatoslav of yore had sent his enemies a similar warning. The Prince
would telegraph this message to some warrior tribe of Pechenegs or Polovtsi
and would then ride off to settle their hash. However, it would never do to
address such an impertinent fellow as the King of Balvonia politely, and
that was why the Emperor of Schwambrania would angrily add "rat": "I March
on you, rat!" Then the Emperor would summon the supplier of medicine to His
Majesty's court, whose official title was Physician Extraordinary, and get
himself called up.
"And how are we today?" the Physician Extraordinary would inquire.
"How's our stomach? Uh ... how's our stool, I mean throne, today? Breathe
deeply, please."
Then the Emperor would get into his coach and say: "Come on, fellow!
Don't spare the horses!"
And he would go off to war. Everyone would cheer and salute, while his
queen waved a clean hankie from her window.
Naturally, Schwambrania won all its wars. Balvonia was defeated and
annexed. But no sooner were the "war parade grounds" swept clean and the
"prizon" places aired than Caldonia would declare war on Schwambrania. It
would also be defeated. A hole was made in the fortress wall, and from then
on the Schwambranians could go to Caldonia without paying the fare, every
day except Sundays.
There was a special place on "that side" for "Foren Land". That was
where the nasty Piliguins lived. They roamed the icy wastes and were
something of a cross between pilgrims and penguins. The Schwambranians had
met the Piliguins head-on on the war grounds on several occasions and had
always defeated them. However, we did not annex their land, for then we
would have had no one to fight. Thus, Piliguinia was set aside for future
historic developments.

FROM POKROVSK TO DRANDZONSK


When in Schwambrania, we lived on the main street of Drandzonsk, on the
1,001st floor of a diamond house. When in Russia we lived in the town of
Pokrovsk on the Volga River, opposite the city of Saratov. We lived on the
first floor of a house on Market Square.
The screeching voices of the women vendors burst in through the open
windows. The pungent dregs of the market were piled high on the square. The
unharnessed horses chomped loudly, and their feed-bags jerked and bobbed.
Wagons raised their shafts heavenwards, imploringly. There were eatables,
junk, groceries, greens, dry goods, embroideries and hot food rows.
Thin-rind watermelons were stacked in pyramids like cannon-balls in the
movie The Defence of Sevastopol.
This was the film then being shown at the Eldorado, the electric
cinematographic theatre around the corner. There were always goats outside.
Regular herds of goats crowded around to munch on the playbills which were
pasted to the billboards with flour-paste.
Breshka Street led from the Eldorado to our house. People used to
promenade here in the evenings. The street was only two blocks long, and so
the strollers would jostle each other as they walked back and forth for